


Family

by Astronut



Category: Star Wars Legends - All Media Types
Genre: Families of Choice, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 20:06:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,787
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20570120
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Astronut/pseuds/Astronut
Summary: After Threepio abruptly leaves, Han is forced to face his definition of family.





	Family

**Author's Note:**

> From the 2006 Dare Challenge at Jedi Council Forums
> 
> The Dare:  
Threepio’s been a member of the Solo family for over 30 years. However, overhearing Han's conversation he comes to the conclusion he is no longer wanted or needed. So he decides to leave their service. Discovering him gone Leia forces Han to go after him and bring him back. 
> 
> I Dare You to write a vignette that has Threepio leaving and Han going to fetch him back. Must include:  
1) A goodbye message from Threepio  
2) Threepio coming to a droid’s equivalent of tears  
3) Han's admission that he care's about the droid  
4) It must end with Threepio saying, “Never tell me the odds”
> 
> Please do not repost without permission

Family

The heat from Askaj’s single blue sun beat down mercilessly on the bustling spaceport of Atomerii. Dust and the stink of sweat choked the air as aliens and humans of all shapes and species choked the streets. Pausing to survey the thronging crowd, Han tugged at his Tomoun sandveil, lowering it further to shield his eyes from the bright sunshine. 

“Aw, Kessel with this,” he muttered to himself. “Hey, You! Yeah, you with the horns,” Han tapped a near by Devaronian on the shoulder. “Have you seen a protocol droid around here? Gold, prissy, can’t stop talking?” With an idle shake of his horned head, the Devaronian continued walking. “You there, have you seen an outdated protocol droid?” Han queried several other passersby, each responding with a negative. 

Sweat streaming down his brow, he threw up his hands in frustration. “I give up! If that pesky droid wants to stay here and rust, let him!” Ignoring stares from the crowd, Han ducked into a small, dimly lit cantina. A myriad of smells assaulted his nose as he entered. Thick coarse smoke from cigarras, the sweet odor of spice, and the astringent smell of alcohol overwhelmed the dust and sweat and soothed his pounding head. 

Plopping down in a shadowy booth, he ignored the diverse, seedy crowd at the bar typical of a spaceport cantina. “Whyren’s Reserve, on the rocks,” he told the Askajian waitress. She nodded with a jerk and strode off, pushing her rotund form through the crowd. Shaking the dust from his sandveil and placing it on the seat, he pulled a small datapad from his pocket. Thumbing the switch on, a small fuzzy blue holo projection of a humanoid droid formed over the table. 

“My most humble greetings to the esteemed Solo Family. As you know, I am C-3PO, human cyborg relations. I am fluent in over 6 million forms of communication.” The datapad’s small, tinny speakers only enhanced the grating quality of the uppity voice. “I’m afraid that over due deliberation, in which my internal processors were taxed to their design points, I have decided to leave the service of your family. As you may recall, as a man-cipated droid, under Section 16 of the New Republic Standards for Independent Beings, which are still under effect under the Grandfather Clause of the Galactic Federation of Free Alliance Declaration of Purpose, I am entitled to obtain and terminate employment opportunities on my own discretion. I deeply regret not following standard protocol and giving you the traditional two weeks notice, but I feel that it is in the best for all parties involved if I depart immediately. I wish to thank you for allowing me to serve you these past 36 years.” The verbose droid hesitated, raising his arms slightly and cocking his head to the camera. “The rest of this message is for the astromech droid R2-D2, currently in service to Grand Master Luke Skywalker.” There was a moment’s pause. “Look here, you overgrown scrap can. I don’t care what promises your misfiring circuitry has dreamed up, I’m leaving the Solo family. You can go right along and take care of them both, as if you can even take care of yourself. However, I will miss partnering with you. C-3PO out.” 

The holo faded back into the digital mists from which it was born. Glancing down, Han discovered his drink, the ice already disappearing. Idly, he flicked off some of the beads of condensation coating the glass. It had been three hours since Leia had kicked him off _his_ ship, promising he would not be allowed back aboard unless Threepio was with him. He flicked another drop, watching as it splashed against the table’s scarred top only to evaporate quickly in the hot, arid air. _With that lightsaber of hers, she could probably enforce it now, too._

She had blamed him for everything upon discovering Golden Rod’s missive on the termination of his service. _So I said a few words about how I had old hydrospanners more useful than him_. _Big deal. It was his fault for walking in on us for the millionth time in thirty-odd years. It’s not like I haven’t said worse things before. How was I supposed to know he’d fry a circuit and take off?_

But something in the droid’s brain had caused him to leave, and now Leia wanted him back. Han took a large sip of his drink, relishing the burning sensation as he swallowed. _Ah, who I am kidding? I’d miss the bucket of blots, too. I’ve gotten so used to his blathering, I even hear his voice when he’s not around._ Han frowned. Above the noisy din of the cantina, he could clearly make out a certain droid’s prissy tone. 

“During my tenure with my former Masters, who weren’t really my Masters as I’ve been technically man-cipated for some time, I served as a translator, an advisor in protocol for political and diplomatic matters, and a nursemaid to three children.” 

Cradling his unfinished drink in his left hand, Han wove a steady course towards the bar where a glint of gold could be seen amongst a small crowd of spacers. 

“I would provide references, save I left under less then desirable terms. I can assure you, however…” 

“That’s okay, Peethree,” a particularly unkempt Ranat interrupted. “Say, what kind of processor did you say you had in there?” 

“I possess an AA-1 Verbobrain of the highest quality. It was once remarked that…”

“There out with AA-8s now, aren’t they?” Remarked a Sullustan on Threepio’s right. “That’s a real shame. That’s real gold and durneium plate though, isn’t it?”

“Why, yes, you have a good eye, sir. But I assure you, I am more then capable with my experience…”

The Ranat let out a slow whistle through his elongated front teeth. “That’s Old Republic grade diplomatic plate. I bet we could get a pretty penny for that alone.” 

“Yes, sirs, I am of the highest quality. I actually served on a diplomatic ship for a short time under the command of Captain Antilles, no relation to the military genius General Wedge Antilles, of course, but equally as prestigious.”

“Is that so? Well, you’ll just have to come with us.” The small Sullustan grabbed Threepio’s arm, tugging slightly. 

Han took a step towards the group. “He’s not going anywhere, buddy. I suggest you and your friend go scavenge somewhere else. The morgue, maybe.” 

“Captain Solo, however good to see you, sir. But I am afraid that as I no longer…”

“Shut it, Golden Rod.” He turned to face the two spacers. “You heard me, scram.” 

“Says who, old man?” The Sullustan shot him an obstinate look, leaning back against the bar. 

“Says my blaster to your face.” Han reached with his right and quickly slipped his Blastech from its place on his thigh. It hitched slightly on the draw, but Han doubted that these two lum-heads would notice his deteriorating reflexes. 

The two scavengers quickly retreated. He returned his blaster to its holster and took a seat next to the protocol droid. “I hardly think it was necessary to deter my future employers in that manner,” the droid sniffed. 

“Use that Verbobrain of yours and realize that they only wanted you for scrap,” Han growled. 

“I suppose that’s all we obsolete droids are good for these days.” Surprisingly, he picked up a glass of dark golden liquid and began sipping from a small straw. “I’m doomed to spend the rest of my operating lifetime as parts for other droids. Perhaps if donate my brain to some other droid, I will have had a purpose in life.” 

“You have a purpose, Threepio, if only to annoy me,” Han said dismissively. “I take it this place caters to droids, unlike a certain cantina back when we first met?” He nodded to the drink. 

“Yes, Captain. They have some of the best selection of Whyren’s Droid 40 that I’ve ever tasted.” 

“Is that so?” Han took a swig of his own drink. “Say, Threepio. What say you stop this nonsense and come back to the _Falcon_?” 

“Sir, I couldn’t do that. I’d hate to burden you with such a useless piece of machinery. After all, the children are all grown up. Mistress Leia is a Jedi now, and is no longer in politics, so she certainly doesn’t need me. Even dear Chewbacca is gone, so I don’t even have that impolite, impossible Wookie to translate for. Go on, leave without me.” Threepio’s head sunk, managing to resemble a depressed human more than Han would have thought possible. 

“Now Golden Rod,” Han said, placing a hand on the droid’s shoulder. “You know I didn’t mean anything by what I said. I’ve always thought your were prissy, annoying, and useless, whether or not you were obsolete. And so what if there are new droids on the market? I bet they can’t do half the things you’ve done. Remember that song you composed for Leia for me?” 

“Oh, yes. ‘What a man, hey Solo, he’s every prumuhum’…” Han quickly clapped a hand over the droid’s mouth. 

“Yeah, that. And you’ve taken care of the kids for us, and even saved us from that garbage masher. So we owe you. Besides, save for maybe Artoo, no other droid could know us so well. I still remember how well Chewie said you impersonated me back on the _Falsehood_. No other droid could have done that.” 

“That _was_ another droid, sir,” Threepio wailed, turning his head away from Han. 

“Oh, right.” Han was silent for a moment. “I guess…I guess what I’m trying to say…well…” He downed the rest of his drink to steel his nerves. “Threepio, I care for you. You’re a part of my family,” he stated with finality. 

“Oh, Captain Solo, you truly mean it?” Threepio pivoted his head to face Han. To Han’s astonishment, a bit of fluid leaked from the corners of the droid’s glowing orange photoreceptacles. “It is such an honor, Captain. Oh look, I’m afraid my eyes have sprung a coolant leak. Dear me, how embarrassing.” He tapped a gold plated hand on the bar. “Barkeep, a napkin if you please. A clean one. I should hate to smudge dirt all over my polish on the first day of my acceptance into the Solo family; it really is such an honor.” 

“Come on Threepio,” Han squeezed the droid’s shoulder. “Let’s go home. Odds are that Leia has worn a hole in the deckplates from pacing with worry about you.” 

Finishing with the napkin, Threepio rose. “Solo, I’ll come with you on one condition,” he said with what sounded like a Corellian accent. “Never tell me the odds.” 


End file.
